I'm Not Okay
by Arctick Child
Summary: Red vs Blue. Being in South's head is a lot different than being in York's.


Disclaimer; I don't own _Red vs. Blue._

I'm (Not) Okay

_Well if you wanted honesty  
that's all you had to say.  
I never want to let you down or have you go  
it's better off this way.  
For all the dirty looks  
the photographs your boyfriend took,  
Remember when you broke your foot  
from jumping out the second floor?_

_- "I'm Not Okay" by My Chemical Romance_

Delta didn't like South's head. In fact, there was no place he hated more, not even that stupid storage compartment Wash had put him in, and that was by a small margin. At least in the storage compartment he couldn't hear what the Freelancer was thinking, what he was feeling. He was a completely separate entity, and while most AI hated the powerless feeling that came with being trapped in a virtual box, he didn't mind, especially not after being in South's head.

He had always sparred with York over the 'flawed' view of humanity, from being uncomfortable around old enemies to grief at facing old friends. But York, at the very least, had something resembling control over himself and his emotions. Despite his telling Wash he was more useful in battle, he was grateful it had been the half-crazy Recovery agent who found him. It gave him a chance to think and remember and grieve, in a sense, the sudden disposal of the only human he'd ever partially understood.

But South's head was a wave of emotion upon emotion, rushing towards him unchecked, unresisted, and unnoticed, for the most part, by the person they originated from. Emotion and memory and little pinpricks of data he doubted South even consciously collected overwhelming him, drowning him.

"You okay in there, D?" South asked, as if sensing his displeasure. They had just left Agent Washington dying in front of one of the worst creatures he would ever face, and she wanted to know if he was okay? He didn't understand how she could rationalize abandoning a comrade in the heat of battle. It was very different from his time with York, which was usually spent breaking into empty shops in an attempt to combat boredom while running from Project Freelancer.

"I would appreciate it if you did not refer to me as 'D,'" he told her as evenly as possible. It was a nickname used previously by two people he had trusted, even liked, and it had no place in South's twisted mind as if it was her right to use it as she pleased.

"Sorry," the Freelancer lied smoothly. "What's on your mind, _Delta_?"

The AI resisted the urge to shut down her radio, knowing it wouldn't make a difference either way. "I was considering the alternate possibilities to shooting Agent Washington," he replied with only a little more honesty than she. He had, indeed, thought about that subject in depth shortly before it had taken place, but what was done was done, and he, unlike Gamma and Reginald, couldn't turn back time or else York would still be alive.

"Right," South scoffed. "Program, disable lying software. What's really eating you?"

"Lying software disabled," Delta reported, a flash of annoyance sparking through his system. "I was wondering over the differences in being York's AI and being trapped in your head."

He hadn't really put words to the frustration he felt before, but now he knew exactly how to describe it. With York he'd had some freedom, some understanding of what he needed to do and why. He'd enjoyed helping his original host. But South was conflicted and confusing, self-preservation the most dominate of her rather limited personality. He wished he could be somewhere else, anywhere else, but he doubted that he would be changing hosts soon.

"If you had wished me to be honest with you," he continued, "you could have shown me the same courtesy."

South smirked as she adjusted course and set the vehicle on autopilot. "Hey, Delta, you can see what I'm thinking, right?" she asked, changing the subject, and Delta dropped it.

"Yes, for the most part," he confirmed. "Is there something you would like me to see?"

South smirked, "No, but you'll find out about it anyway. And I wanna see just how much depth you've got to ya."

Delta didn't understand. Depth? If by depth she met understanding, she would be disappointed. He was intelligent, yes, but he had never understood humans very well. "Very well," he replied cautiously, bracing himself for the rush of images he had experienced on the rare occasions York had remembered the day his eye was injured.

But it was different with South, calmer. He saw the giant rocks and ruined walls, and recognized instantly the area he and Wash had discovered the twins. North stood nearby, crouched behind one of the ruins, hastily jamming bullets into his SMG. The AI could feel something solid against his back, and assumed he was experiencing the scene from South's point of view, just before her brother's death. Gunfire erupted around them, barely pausing a moment in between bursts, assumedly for the battery to recharge.

"Pretty boned here, aren't we?" North sounded forcefully light, as if trying to find some humor in the situation that neither Delta, with his limited knowledge of the twins or their attacker, nor South could understand. "I mean, I was always expected to be used as a human shield. Fay, what are our chances of sneaking past that thing?"

A small purple figure appeared beside North, and Delta recognized his sister with an odd sense of relief, one which he was unsure came from him or South. "Almost zero," she reported. North glanced at their attacker, firing off a couple of rounds at random.

"Instigate camouflage protocol," he instructed, a reckless edge to his voice. "Boost the target zone to include South. We're gonna try it. What's the safest path?"

Theta was obviously displeased, and Delta couldn't blame her. He knew what it was like to have a Freelancer prone to occasional acts of stupidity. "Approximately three yards north of you is a false wall that leads to what was once a basement," she reported dutifully. "South is currently positioned two feet from it. The enemy will not make it easy, North."

"Of course not," North muttered. "South, squat down. There's practically no chance this'll work, but I want you safe, nonetheless." Delta could almost hear the grin when he spoke again. "Gotta look out for my baby sister, after all."

A flash of annoyance, definitely South; "You're only older than me by two minutes!"

North chuckled, and Delta felt an odd tingly sensation through his--South's--body. "Still older," the Freelancer pointed out smugly. "Think you can cover me until I make it to the wall?"

South nodded. "Of course," she boasted. "Best shot in my implant group, remember?"

North laughed again. "Good thing you're covering my ass, then," he said, and there was no mistaking the pride in his voice, even for an AI who had never met a human before. "Ready? One… two… go!"

South stayed perfectly still as her brother burst into the open, not even bothering to pretend to be covering him. Delta watched through South's eyes as her brother cried out, a bullet slicing through his armor and embedding itself deep into the soft tissues surrounding his heart. She waited a moment more before moving out, gulping as she faced the Meta.

"There's no point in killing me," she called out. "It'll waste your time, anyway. I don't have any equipment. You've only got a few minutes before Recovery gets here. Wouldn't want to be caught in the act, would you?"

The Meta hesitated, snarling viciously, and then dove at North, quickly stripping him of his equipment and AI. Delta felt a pang of loneliness as he watched his sister be carried into the mass of insanity that was once Agent Maine. South turned to leave.

A heavy blow struck her from behind, and she was unconscious before she hit the ground.

Delta gasped as he pulled himself from South's memories, despite the fact he had no need to breathe. He hadn't realized how much he missed York until that moment. Watching as she calmly allowed her twin to be killed, and then offering up his corpse as--as what? Bait? A bribe? Delta didn't understand. How could any one person, even someone as emotionally damaged as Agent South Dakota, stand back and watch while their blood was killed, and feel nothing? That was the only explanation he could reach as to why the transition was so smooth, so effortless, from reality to memory. She was just as peaceful piloting the aircraft as she had been watching her own family die.

York had a few flaws, pride not the least of them. But he had had a conscience, and he'd reacted to things in a direct, sensible fashion. South was a murderer, or as good as one.

"C'mon, D, I'm not that bad," the Freelancer cut in, and then paused a moment before adding, "You alright?"

Delta was careful to blank his emotions before replying, "I am undamaged."

It was a lie, of course. But as long as he could control the thought and emotional processes that had developed under York, he would be fine.

Sort of.


End file.
